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thought I was laughing at religion—at God—he’d have gone back into that squashed house of his, and I’d have never known him. I’d have played on the Harding High team with him; but I wouldn’t have
known
him. At the end, everything went wrong. But knowing Levi—being his best friend—that had been right.

3
    I SPENT THE NEXT TWO DAYS working around the house. There were boxes to unload, carpets to unroll, furniture to move. On July 4 my dad and I went out for pizza before driving to Sea-Tac Airport to pick up my mom. From the freeway I could see fireworks exploding over Lake Union.
    My mom’s flight was late, and she’d been stuck next to some guy who reeked of cigarettes, ate beef jerky, and hacked away for two hours. She was in no mood to talk—still, I was glad she was finally in Seattle.
    When I awoke the following morning, I saw Mount Rainier out my window for the first time—clouds had covered it up until then. I’d known it was there, but I hadn’t known it was so enormous. The mountain rose like a giant coming out of the earth.
    Downstairs, I found a note on the kitchen table from my mom saying that she and my dad wouldn’t be back until dinner. I fried myself a couple of eggs with bacon, grabbed my basketball, and headed out. Because I’d heard how cold and rainy Seattle is, I put on a hooded sweatshirt, but the sun was bright in the sky.
    I knew from doing an Internet search that there were serious high school pickup games at the Green Lake Community Center. I’d need to play there eventually, but I hadn’t shot a basketball in a week, and I wanted to have my A game when I took on Seattle’s best players.
    So instead of Green Lake, I headed to the Good Shepherd Center, a nearby park that I’d found using Google Maps. The streets wound this way and that—Tangletown is called Tangletown for a reason—but I finally found it.
    The basketball hoops were tucked behind a brick building that had been a school before being converted into an arts center. The backboards were small, but the rims were straight and had nylon nets.
    For an hour I practiced my stutter step, my crossover, and my jump shot. Then, I shot fifty free throws, sinking forty-one. After the last shot—a swish—dropped through, I retrieved the ball and held it, wondering what to do next.
    That’s when I heard the
thump-thump-thump
of a basketball being dribbled. The brick building blocked my view, but the dribbling came closer and closer until finally the guy with the basketball turned a corner and I could see him.
    Levi Rawdon.
    He looked startled for a moment; then he smiled broadly and waved. “Jonas,” he called out.
    â€œHey, Levi,” I called back.
    As he approached, I felt oddly confused. I needed to make friends, and what better place to start than with someone who lived on my block and was on the Harding High basketball team? But that stuff about sin made me wish that someone else had rounded that corner. If I swore or I said something nasty about somebody, I didn’t want the guy looking at me like I was on an express train to hell.
    We shot around for a while, but shooting around gets old fast. Levi was six inches taller and thirty pounds heavier. Still, if you don’t challenge yourself, you don’t get better. The other kid that Coach Richter was considering was playing against somebody, somewhere. “Game to eleven?” I asked. “Winner’s outs. Okay?”

4
    I COULDN’T MATCH UP AGAINST LEVI physically, but if you know your strengths and exploit your opponent’s weaknesses, you can win games you should lose. If I knocked down a few jump shots early in the game, he’d be forced to guard me closely. Once he got in my face, I’d out-quick him to the hoop.
    Defending him would be tougher. If he was determined to muscle me, backing in and backing in, I’d have no chance. That style of play